Crimson Snow
by themodernteen
Summary: It's the dead of night on Carnival Row. Philo finds himself on the dangerous streets after dark, a known Critch sympathizer. When he's ambushed & attacked by unknown thugs, the injured Philo is found by Tourmaline and Vignette. Vignette must confront her feelings about the man she hates to love, the aftermath of Tirnanoc & this new life in the Burgue. Fluff! Whump! Orlando Bloom!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! Here's a new story! I just finished "Carnival Row" & highly recommend! An amazing series & an even more amazing Orlando Bloom! Enjoy this new fi****c!**

"_Philo..."_

_He was in Tirnanoc. The territory was still free of Pact forces, but they could all feel the impending doom looming in the air. The native fae felt their wings flutter with the imminent destruction of their ancient home. The Burguish soldiers who had found shelter there knew evacuation would come soon. _

_Yet, through the snow laden rocky land that would soon see bullet holes and blood, Rycroft Philostrate could only think of one._

_Her translucent wings filled his mind, along with her wind pixie eyes, and soft chestnut hair. He longed to hold her in his arms, to run away with her and to leave the horrors of the war behind. _

_Along with the dark secrets of his past._

"_Philo."_

_BANG! BANG!_

_Gunfire. Shouts. Screams. Death._

_Around him, chaos exploded. He desperately tried searching for her, but fae were dropping like flies and Burguish soldier blood spattered the rocks. _

"_Philo...!"_

_Was she safe? Was she alive? He yearned to run into the rocky gorge and find her and flee, but Tourmaline's words rang in his ears. She would die for him._

_Thoughts of her death clouded his eyes. He could imagine her flying towards him, arms outstretched, fierce love in her eyes as she nearly reached him and then BANG!_

_She'd be dead in the snow. Her fae blood would paint the white flakes crimson._

_And it would be his fault._

"Philo!"

He gasped awake.

Philo sat upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat, breathing heavily.

He was in his bedroom, a soft hand rested on his shoulder.

"Philo?" came the voice that shook his from his sleep, "Are you alright?"

Portia lay beside him, her expression a mixture of worry.

He didn't answer, still recovering. The red snow. Her still wings. They still haunted him.

"What was it about…?" she said softly.

He cleared his throat, trying to push the dark thoughts out of his mind, "Nothing."

Philo stood, reaching for the jug of water on the desk.

Portia's face fell, "That wasn't nothing," her voice was filled with hurt, the hurt of the person you loved refusing to open themselves up to you.

He sighed after a moment, overlooking the view of the Burgue.

"It's the case," he lied, "I can't stop thinking about it."

"Philo, you need to leave your work at the Constabulary," she said in a pleading voice, "no man can bring the horrors you see home with them."

She was right, of course. And though the string of murders had consumed him as of late, that wasn't the subject of his dreams.

He had seen her. She had come to him in this very room, a knife pressed against his throat, but it still made his heart skip.

A relic of his past had survived to the present, and it was the greatest gift he did not deserve. He had lied to her, left her, but he had to remember what Tourmaline had said to him. If Vignette had known that he was still alive, she would come for him.

And she would have gotten herself killed.

"I know," he reached for his shirt on the floor, shrugging it on.

"Where are you going?" Portia asked, puzzled.

"Out," he spoke curtly, "I need some air."

"When will you be back?" she said, desperate that he would join her again in bed, desperate for a sense of closeness with him she knew she would never have.

He stopped at the door, holding the knob for a second as he looked into her hopeful eyes.

"Don't wait for me."

He opened the door and slipped out.

The Burgue after dark was a dangerous place. Already, the increasingly uneasy relations between the Critch and the Burguish men and women were prevalent during the day. At night, real tempers broiled with the aid of drink and lust.

Philo walked silently, burying himself in his coat to avoid the staring eyes of the men. It wasn't unknown that he was a Critch sympathizer. Sergeant Dombey made sure nobody forgot.

He needed time to think, time to process the fact that Vignette was here in the Burgue. Philo had left his life as a soldier behind when they evacuated Tirnanoc, but his past had dug itself up with her return. Old feelings came rocketing to the surface, strong emotions he could not contain.

Portia was kind and good to him, but he did not love her the way he did Vignette. He would never be able to love her the way she did him, and that crushed him. Another person who suffered by his hand, another person he disappointed.

The only thing to combat these thoughts were the case, and that did not do anything to quell the turmoil within himself. The murders were connected to him and his past, but why? Who knew the secret of his bastard birth other than Vignette?

She would never have confessed to a living soul of his spoiled lineage, that he was for certain.

His troubled mind sought the help of the Haruspex. The witch was dangerous and tricky, but Philo knew there was something he was missing in this ghastly puzzle.

In the midst of his thoughts, Philo found himself walking aimlessly. Yet, he was not as aimless as he thought. He was in the Row.

The booming fae brothels were alive, the bars overflowing with men and Critch hoping to drown their sorrows, and people milled and tumbled in the dirty, soaked streets. He was in front of Tetterby Hotel.

It wasn't by chance that he had found himself standing before Vignette's new home.

_What are you doing, Philo? This is bloody ridiculous!_

What _was_ he doing here?

Had he come to torture Vignette further? To strengthen her suffering? She said it herself, he had destroyed her when he left Tirnanoc with the impression of his death, and now he came to her doorstep asking for what exactly? Forgiveness? Hope? Love?

He himself was not sure.

Philo sighed, watching the chaos of the Row unfold around him. There was nothing for him to accomplish here, nothing he could hope for. Vignette would never forgive him for what he had done, and that was something his broken heart would have to accept-

_BANG!_

A pain erupted in his temple. Philo felt himself drop.

His vision swam and his ears rang. He could feel the cool stone beneath his cheek and red drops fall from his temple.

There was movement around him, as he tried to keep his eyes open. He saw black coats and leather boots.

Hands grabbed his arms. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words formed. Darkness clouded the edges of his vision.

He felt himself being dragged across the wet stone, lifted.

A black bag was being thrown over his head. Before the fabric covered his fuzzy vision, he could make out the interior of a carriage.

There were muffled, deep voices.

His temple was burning with pain.

That was all he felt before his world went black.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the love so far! I'm glad I was able to write a _Carnival Row _story for everyone who was searching! Enjoy!**

Tourmaline lingered on her balcony, feeling the opposition boil within her at the prospect of going back inside and bringing cheap, disgusting pleasure to men that despised her kind. But she needed to make a living, and at least she was doing so in a house filled with her people.

No matter how much of herself she had to strip away to do so.

The Burgue was better than Pact occupied Tirnanoc. Better alive than dead.

But was it better to be alive and miserable instead of dead?

When thoughts like these filled her head, she found relief in the disconnect she felt with a new male customer. Though she hated her job, she appreciated the blanket that fell over her mind that seemed to lift her away from her present situation and take her back to the wonderful days of Tirnanoc before the war.

Tourmaline smoked her cigarette, watching the Row bustle below her. She longed to spread her wings and fly away, but to where? There was nowhere she could go.

A dark figure caught the edge of her vision.

He seemed all too familiar in the corner of her eye. She turned her head and saw him. It was Philostrate.

_What the hell is he doing here? _She thought to herself scornfully.

He wasn't looking at her, he was staring at the cold stone of the street. His expression seemed lost in thought and confused.

She felt anger bubble within her. Tourmaline knew the pain he had caused her, and she had trouble forgiving him for it. Though she warned him to leave Vignette behind, she never told him to fake his death. That was outright cruel.

Driven by her anger, she needed to say something to him. To curse him, to swear, to scold him for his actions.

A hooded figure came slinking behind

_Who is that? _She opened her mouth to speak.

_WHACK!_

The cloaked person slammed Philo across the head with a hard stone. He fell to the floor, completely unaware. Tourmaline's eyes widened, fear gripping her. She couldn't believe her eyes!

Philo tried to lift himself up from the floor, but couldn't. He fell back down, dazed and bleeding from the temple.

Tourmaline watched, afraid, as a carriage came bounding beside them. The carriage driver dismounted, helping his cloaked ally as they carried Philo into the carriage, black-bagging him.

She wanted to raise her voice, to sound the alarm, but this was the Row. This was nighttime in the Row. Who would believe a fae prostitute who was no more significant than the mud beneath any man's boot?

Philo was loaded into the carriage and carried off down a dark alley. Nobody was the wiser, people too consumed in their drink and their carnivorous desires to care about a man's fate.

Philo's was meant to be a dark one. Whoever took him intended to bring him harm, probably to kill him. However much she was against Philo and his past actions, she couldn't see him dead.

Tourmaline shrugged on a coat quickly. She needed a weapon, but there was nothing near her other than a dull letter opener. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket. Her wings spread, flapping as she took flight and followed the carriage into the dark.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

In his black haze, Philo felt the rumbling of a carriage on rough stone. He fell in and out of awareness, but he could surely feel the pain erupting in his head.

The deep, muffled voices around him spoke intermittently, but they sounded rough and mean. He tried to remember some of his training, to listen and grasp what he could to use to his benefit later, but his mind was dim and turning.

The next thing he was aware of, he was lying on his back on a hard floor. He was inside a structure, not feeling the wet cobblestone beneath him or the harsh wind on his skin.

There were footsteps that circled him.

"Get up."

His hands were tied, but he tried finding his footing. Philo tried to climb to his knees, but he fell back in his disoriented attempt.

"Ya knocked the sense right outta him," came the cockneyed reply and a low hum of laughter.

"Good," came another voice, "maybe knocked that Critch lover outta him too."

"Nah," said the first voice, "he might need a bit more bangin' around to get rid of that. Ain't that right, Sergeant?"

An evil laugh echoed through the room, as rough hands grabbed him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Tourmaline had followed the carriage to an old, abandoned church that was desecrated years ago. It was near the outskirts of the Row, far enough away from the nearest police. She saw the men roughly take a stumbling Philo out and push him inside, closing the door roughly.

She didn't have to think too much to wonder what was happening inside.

She needed help. Philo needed help.

There was only one person she could think of who would.

Tourmaline flew to the Black Raven hideout, the place of Vignette's nightly affairs. She was immediately met by fae guards dressed in black attire.

"Please," she panted, "I need to find my friend. It's urgent."

"As urgent as the business we have going on here?" the guard sneered, "go back to your whorehouse!"

"This is a matter of life or death!" she rebuked, "And if you don't get her, I will personally report you to the Constabulary and say you assisted in the murder of a Burguish police sergeant!"

At the threat of her words, he relented unhappily, "Who's the girl?"

"Vignette Stonemoss."

"Wait here."

He was gone for a few minutes, but returned a few minutes later with Vignette.

"Tourmaline?" she spoke in a hushed voice to avoid the prying ears of the guard, "What're you doing here?"

She looked earnestly into her eyes, "It's Philo."

The two fae flew in the night. Vignette followed Tourmaline as they zig-zagged through the Row steeples in the moonlight.

"Where are we going, Tourmaline!?" Vignette called.

"You'll see! Just hurry!"

Vignette followed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sergeant Dombey exited his own carriage, looking around to make sure no one was watching. He was at the outskirts of the Row, the same place where Philo was being held.

That bloody Critch lover. It was time he was shown the consequences of siding with the creatures versus his own kind.

"He here?" Dombey spat on the stone.

"Yeah," Theodore, the first of Philo's abductors, moved from his resting spot against the wall, "We got him."

"Good," Dombey cracked his knuckles, "let's get on with it then."

Theodore, Sergeant Dombey, and the other - Randolph - all walked back into the abandoned structure, Sergeant Philostrate waiting inside.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"There," Tourmaline nudged Vignette as they spied from the opposite rooftop.

"Dombey," Vignette cursed under her breath, "Of course."

"What's he here for?" Tourmaline asked with a shaky voice.

"Philo doesn't mind living with us Critch. Dombey doesn't agree."

"We need to get him out. They'll kill him."

"They won't," Vignette shook her head, "but I agree, we have to get him out. Leave it to me. Wait here."

"Vignette, no! You can't go alone!"

"Yes, I can," she nodded, determined, "you know I can."

Tourmaline sighed, knowing she was right. She let her go, watching as Vignette fluttered to ground level. She unsheathed a dagger from her belt. Seven years in Pact-occupied Tirnanoc left you ready and alert for a battle at any moment.

Vignette crept towards the doorway, hearing the sounds of struggle inside.

"You traitorous bastard! Turnin' on your own kind for them bloody Critch!"

Punches rang from the inside rooms, Vignette wincing at the sound of every blow.

"Say somethin', Critch lover!"

More punches.

Classic Philo. He wasn't one to beg, he was one to endure. He wouldn't let these miserable thugs get to him, no matter how hard they hit him.

"Enough," came Dombey's voice, "Get the blade."

It was now or never. While Dombey's thugs shuffled around inside, she quickly slipped through the door, silently flying upwards towards the ceiling. She poked her head through the doorway. Dombey's back was facing her.

Sitting in front of him was a worn, weary Philo. He was slumped on the floor, a black bag over his head, and hands tied behind his back.

"Oi!" Dombey called irritatedly, "Where's the blade? He ain't gonna cut himself!"

Vignette flew downwards silently, her boots touching the floor. Her kind was particularly stealthy and spry, unlike the fawns who were a stronger, sturdier species.

Dombey's arm was outstretched, waiting for the blade, but his back was still turned.

"Oi-"

Vignette surged forward, pressing her blade against the sergeant's throat and holding him down, "You mean this blade?"

She pressed the metal hard against his windpipe, stopping him from shouting out. His eyes desperately tried to see his assailant, but she kept in the shadows.

"Say one word and I'll have your throat. Understand?"

He nodded ever so carefully.

"Sarg!" came the voice of one of the henchmen inside, "Ya there?"

Vignette froze. So did Dombey. He was breathing heavily, his muscles tense, itching to fight her off.

"Sarg?"

Footsteps came towards them.

She had to act.

Vignette lifted the blade handle up and knocked Dombey across the head with it. His eyes rolled back as he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Randolph and Theodore came strolling inside.

All they saw was a fae standing over a fallen Dombey.

Their shock didn't give them enough time to react. Vignette went racing forward and tackled Theodore to the ground. She nailed her foot against his chest, as she swung at Randolph with her dagger. He backed away at the last moment, the blade cutting the buttons of his vest.

Theodore threw her off, blindly scrambling for her. Vignette disoriented with him her wings and knocked his head against a steel pipe along the wall.

He was down for the count.

Randolph grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms and wings down.

"I've got you now, you fae wench!"

She shouted as she flung her head back, cracking her skull against his nose. He immediately released her, stumbling backwards and blood spurted from his face. He cupped his nose, wildly flinging out with one hand to harm her. She circled him and kicked him in the knee. His leg buckled. She did him in with a hard punch to the face.

Her blood was boiling, her adrenaline high from the fight. Dombey, Theodore, and Randolph were all unconscious at her feet.

_Philo._

She raced to his side, the usually hate that burned within her when she thought of him was completely gone. She quickly cut the ropes away from his hands and pulled the bag off his head. His face was red with gashes and blood. Bruises formed on his temple.

"Tourmaline!" she called.

Within seconds, her companion came bounding inside, "Vinny!"

"Over here!"

She stopped short at the doorway, seeing the three men on the floor, then Philo and Vignette, "Bloody hell!"

"Quick, help me carry him."

"Vinny, he needs a doctor."

"We can't take him there."

"And why not?"

"Imagine two fae bringing in an unconscious, beaten Sergeant of the Burguish Police Force and claiming another Sergeant was the one who did this to him. Who do you think the authorities will believe? Two Critch or the Burgue's own?"

"Then what are we gonna do?"

"Take his arms, I'll grab his legs. We're going to the Haruspex."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for the continued support! Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy!**

"Lay him there," Aoife Tsigani, the Haruspex, ordered Tourmaline and Vignette as they struggled to carry Philo through the doorway of the small shack. She gestured to a metal table that she cleared of her potions and haruspexy supplies.

Tourmaline and Vignette gently lay Philo on the table.

The Haruspex gathered healing herbs and materials from her supplies. Vignette wiped the sweat from her brow, her wings aching from flying and carrying Philo.

"Will he be alright?" Tourmaline asked, still thinking he should be taken to a proper doctor. The Haruspex was known for her trickery, witchcraft, and ambiguous prophecies.

"I first need to know what's happened to him," she croaked, "Was he poisoned?"

"No, just beaten," Vignette shook her head, "but we can't take him to a hospital. You're our only option."

The Haruspex carefully examined Philo's head, noticing the deep bruising and the bleeding cuts.

"What is it?" Vignette pressed, "Is it bad?"

"Deep cuts, heavy bruising," the old witch mumbled, "concussion, but he will make a full recovery."

Vignette released a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding.

The Haruspex mixed a combination of herbs into a poultice.

"What's in that?" Tourmaline asked.

"Healing herbs," she replied, "Yarrow, goldenrod, and honey to treat his wounds. Poppy seeds to relieve his pain."

"What can I do to help?" Vignette stepped forward.

The Haruspex eyed her with a slight smirk. Tourmaline was a little surprised to hear it. Vignette ignored their looks.

"Spread the poultice on his wounds," she handed Vignette the bowl, disappearing deeper into her home.

Tourmaline waited until she was out of earshot, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No," VIgnette started to spread the herbal poultice on Philo's cuts. The green mixture became streaked with red.

Tourmaline sighed. They were quiet for a while, until Tourmaline gathered the courage to speak.

"Vinny-"

"Don't."

"I've seen the way you still look at him."

"I don't _look _at him."

"It's okay, Vignette," Tourmaline placed a hand over hers, "you love him. You have for seven years."

"I hate him."

"I don't believe you'd fight off a Burguish Sergeant and two thugs for someone you hated."

"It's over between us, Tourmaline. You know that. I can't trust him again after what he did."

"I'm not saying what he did was right," she admitted, "but he meant to protect you."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. For the last time, I do not love Philo. Once he's better, he can go back to his life and I can return to mine."

My girl," the Haruspex spoke with an ancient voice of wisdom, "when there is love, there is no darkness." she carried a piece of long horse hair and a needle, beginning to stitch Philo's deep cuts, "keep applying the poultice."

Vignette obeyed, not commenting on her words, but knew it rested at the back of her mind. She watched as the old witch pierced his skin, stitching his wounds.

Philo flinched ever so often from the pain. As the Haruspex continued, his winces intensified. He was returning to consciousness, feeling the full force of his wounds, his concussion, and the needle.

Philo groaned in pain, tossing a bit.

"Can't-" she started, took a breath, and continued again, "can't we give him something more? To ease his pain?"

"Poppy seeds," she spoke without looking up from her work, "lavender, and valerian root."

Tourmaline picked them from her stock, bringing them back to her. The Haruspex quickly mashed them into a semi-solid state.

Philo's eyes blinked awake. He immediately recoiled from the lights, his concussion making his senses sensitive to sights and sounds. He blinked a few times, before focusing on the face hovering over him.

"Vignette…?"

She didn't answer him, she didn't know what to say.

"What-what happened…?"

He winced, a hand instinctively going towards his head. His thoughts were slow and delirious, the pain intensifying every second.

"Easy," Tourmaline warned him.

He groaned, trying to sit upright. The Haruspex placed a hand on his chest, easing him back down.

"Lie still, Sergeant Philostrate."

"Portia….and-and the Row," he mumbled, trying to regain his bearings within his foggy mind, "I-I was at the Row, and...somebody came up from behind-"

Vignette's voice was strong, "Philo."

His dizzy eyes focused on her. Only her. They seemed to clear just for a moment.

"Vignette…," he smiled wearily, reaching a hand up to caress her cheek. She pushed it gently back down by his side.

"Give him the medicine," she said to the Aoife without looking at her, "Now."

The Haruspex stepped forward, chanting under her breath as she mixed the contents of the bowl. Philo lay back on the table, eyes growing heavy. His eyelids fluttered, trying to stay awake, to look at Vignette for every second he could.

Tourmaline helped Aoife, as they had Philo drink the mixture.

"He'll be asleep within the minute."

Vignette was relieved to see his pain fade away as the medicine took effect. His eyes closed slowly, and he was asleep again.

The old witch finished stitching his cuts, applying the poultice, and examining his head injury.

"I have done all that I can," she said, stepping away from the police sergeant.

"Thank you," Tourmaline spoke earnestly, "for helping us. For helping him."

"One must stay and monitor him through the night," Vignette looked us as the Haruspex turned to her, "Vignette, you will stay with him."

It wasn't a question, it was an order.

She nodded, "I'll stay."

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Tourmaline asked her, "I can stay if you'd like."

"I'll be fine," Vignette said confidently, "Go back to the hotel. You've done enough for one night."

After a brief goodbye, Tourmaline flew back to Tetterby's. The Haruspex disappeared deeper into her shack, leaving a confused Vignette and an unconscious Philo alone for the night.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for your patience and kind words! Here's the next chapter!**

It was just before dawn. The midnight sky lightened slightly, the Row quiet in this dead of night.

Vignette sat on a stool in the Haruspex's apothecary, surrounded by interesting potions, suspicious smells, and more. Philo lay on the table beside her, unmoving for the last few hours.

Aoife would enter and exit, cooking up vials and crushing strange roots.

At one point, she presented Vignette with a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully.

Vignette wasn't tired, she didn't want to leave Philo. It wasn't because she cared for him or anything ridiculous of the sort, it was because-

It was because she didn't want to see him hurt.

They had endured war-torn Tirnanoc together, shared tender moments in a time of death and destruction. Philo was something from her past, one of the only surviving memories from her former home. It would crush her to see the last bit of her past life be taken away forever again.

The Haruspex approached, hovering over Philo for a moment. Her wrinkled hands examined his wounds. She reapplied a new poultice.

"What's that?" Vignette asked.

"To fight infection."

"When will he recover fully?"

"His wounds will heal within time. His concussion will require lots of rest."

She scoffed with a slight smile, "Rest? You don't seem to know Philo very well then."

The Haruspex's colored, clouded eyes bore into her own, "But you do."

Vignette looked to the floor.

"You cannot hide forever, Vignette," the old witch muttered softly under her breath.

"I'm not hiding anything-"

"Deny it all you would like. Your heart calls for him, and his calls for yours."

She looked up.

"It is true, and you know it to be so."

"What am I to do?" she asked, exasperated, "Take him back with open arms? Times have changed. Our future was left behind on Tirnanoc seven years ago."

"Times may have changed, but remember: time heals all wounds. You will come to see the motives behind certain actions. Even your own."

Vignette stood, "You can spout riddles and proverbs all you'd like, but that doesn't change anything. He chose a life, without me."

The Haruspex sighed. It was not time for Vignette to accept her future or her feelings. The wound of Philo's betrayal was still too fresh, but she would come to realize in time.

"He may return home in the morning," the Haruspex said, turning away.

"Home?"

"Yes. As you said, Sergeant Philostrate has his own life to live. He has nothing to do with yours."

"Right," Vignette nodded sadly. Hearing her own words against her jarred her.

The sky continued to brighten, early morning in the Row was approaching. It was then that Philo started to stir.

Vignette found herself dozing off slightly, but her eyes fluttered open when she felt movement beside her.

His eyes opened. The dim apothecary shack was easy on his concussed senses, and the herbal pain reliever helped him greatly.

He focused on the fae sitting beside him, "Vignette…?" his voice was groggy, "Is that you?"

She released a tight breath, "Yes, Philo. It's me.

He smiled slightly, followed by a slight wince, "You came for me?"

"No, I saved your sorry arse."

"Just like on Tirnanoc," his smile stayed, "with the Marrok."

She managed a small smirk, "What would you do without me?"

"Where am I?"

"Safe," she assured him, "but injured. You've some nasty cuts and a concussion."

He nodded, turning away.

"What do you remember, Philo?"

"I...I was at the Row to see-" he stopped short, "I was at the Row and someone must've come up from behind. Whacked me across the head."

She nodded, "Tourmaline saw you."

"I was taken somewhere, I don't know. There must've been two or three of them," he turned his head away, "you can guess what happened next."

She was silent for a breath.

"You've got to be more careful. You may accept our kinds, but that won't make people accept you. You have to stay quiet to stay safe."

He looked into her eyes, thinking of conversations from their past, "You of all people should understand that I could never."

She was silent.

"Vignette," he sighed, "I am sorry for leaving you. I didn't mean to-"

"Stop it, Philo. Please."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"I still care for you," he wanted to say another word than 'care'.

"I don't want to see you get hurt."

"We could still-"

She shook her head, "No, we can't."

What had come over him? It had to be the medicine. It had to be the concussion. That's why he was saying such nonsense.

He looked away again, his eyes clouded with grief and sadness. It was like he was mourning something. She knew that grief, it was the exact look she had in her eyes when she thought of her old life in Tirnanoc before the war.

It was gone a second later. He shook his head, that guarded gaze returning. He seemed ashamed of his private thoughts emerging, after he'd kept them under lock and key within his mind for so long. Yet, he couldn't help himself. Vignette was the one person who understood and accepted him. No one else in his life could empathize with his circumstances.

Those who could were dead.

Philo steeled himself up and sat up, "I'd better be going-"

Vignette's brow furrowed, "Philo, what are you doing? Lie back down, you're still-"

The minute his boots touched the ground, his legs buckled. He was engulfed by a bout of dizziness, his concussion taking hold. The world teetered around him as he fell. Vignette's arms wrapped around him, catching him before he hit the floor.

Exhaustion accompanied his dizziness, pain filtering through from his injuries as the Haruspex's medicine wore off.

Vignette laid him back flat on the table, holding him steady despite him wanting to return to normalcy. He wished he had stayed in his room, he wished he had never seen Vignette. Though his heart secretly savored every moment in her presence, it also tore him apart. He had managed to hide his pain under a chiseled, rough exterior that buried his former self. He felt vulnerable and exposed, a discomfort in his chest.

"I told you," she said, voice filled with concern, "you're still injured. You need to allow yourself to rest."

"I'm fine," he said bitterly, "I don't need anybody's help."

Vignette sighed, knowing he was frustrated and emotional. She grabbed the bowl of extra medicine left on the Haruspex's countertop, "Everyone needs help once in a while, Philo, as hard as it is to accept it."

He remained quiet, but a hand reached up and gripped hers.

"I still love you, Vignette," his voice was soft, quiet, "just as much as the first day I laid eyes on you at Tirnanoc."

The words left her mouth before she even thought of them, "I...I love you too, Philo."

He let her hand go, a small smile at his lips. Vignette cleared her throat, confusion gripping her mind. Did she love him? Why did she say that? What did this mean?

She carefully reapplied the medicine to his wounds. He closed his eyes, allowing her hands to to gingerly touch his skin. Her cool fingertips soothed his troubled mind. His pain and weariness were catching up to him, and he felt himself fading, her touch its own relieving therapy for him.

Vignette had not shared an intimate moment with Philo - with anyone - since his supposed death seven years ago. She had spent all that time mourning him, then furious. Now, she couldn't help but feel pity knowing that he had felt exactly the same as she. Her hands attended to his wounds, then wandered. She ran her fingers through his short, curly black hair. When they had last seen one another, it was long and unruly. She quite liked it this way, dare she think he was even...handsome.

It was quite some time they remained that way. She silently running her hands through his hair. His breathing grew even and deep, his eyes remained closed as he slept again.

The dark sky grey to a pale grey. Ravens squawked, awakening the Row, as a new day began.

"It is time."

Vignette jumped, turning to see the Haruspex standing behind her. How long had she been there silently observing?

Vignette pulled her hand away. Philo remained asleep.

"Time?" she asked, confused.

"To take Sergeant Philostrate home."

"Take him home? But I thought he needs rest-"

"Imagine someone goes looking for him. A missing sergeant of the Burguish police would cause riots in the streets beyond any of our control. The opposition groups are searching for any catalyst to attack our kinds."

Vignette sighed, "I suppose you're right. But I have a favor to ask."

The old witch tilted her head, listening carefully.

"Is there a way," she began, "to erase Sergeant Philostrate's memories of the events from last night?"

"And what would be the purpose of such an act?" the Haruspex pressed.

"For his own good. He is a detective, he will not rest until he's discovered the perpetrators of this crime. And when he does discover him to be a fellow sergeant of the Constabulary, it'll only endanger him further."

"Do not take me for a fool, girl. That is not the only reason."

Vignette was quiet, knowing if she did speak her words would be true and spoken to the world. They would no longer remain inside of her.

"I don't," she admitted with difficulty, "I don't know how I feel."

"Go on."

"Seeing him again, seeing him like this. It must've brought back memories of the past," she looked at him lying on the table, "He said things that were probably aided by the medicine or his concussion. I said things that I shouldn't have, things that I don't want him to know."

"Vignette," the Haruspex began, "your destiny is intertwined with Sergeant Philostrate, you must know that. You must accept it."

"No," she shook her head, then took a breath, "at least...not yet."

"Very well," the Haruspex sighed, "if that is what you believe."

She approached the table, standing over Philo.

"Are you positive?"

Vignette nodded, "Yes."

The old witch placed a wrinkled hand on Philo's forehead. He didn't stir. She began a rhythmic chanting in a low tone, her words sounding ancient.

Vignette just watched, steely-eyed.

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	5. Chapter 5

**My dear readers! The time has come for the final chapter. I thank you all for your support and love of this story, and, again, I am so glad that this is the first _Carnival Row _fit you've been able to find. Check out my other fics if you haven't, it would be much appreciated! Enjoy the final chapter! ~themodernteen**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any _Carnival Row _content or character. **

Philo's eyes shot open. He sat upright quickly.

Bad idea. His vision swam with black spots, a dizziness engulfing him as he took a breath.

Philo slowly opened his eyes this time, minding the throbbing in his head, as he observed his surroundings.

He was in his room, daylight filtered through linen curtains as he swung his legs onto the floor. Portia wasn't beside him, he was alone.

Strange….he thought to himself. He could've sworn she was there the night before. She must've left early in the morning.

Philo stood up, steadying himself. He looked down, confused to find himself properly dressed. He was wearing his boots, a belt, trousers, and a collared shirt. His long wool coat was draped across the table. Philo reached for the pocket watch.

2:10 PM.

Why, it was mid-afternoon!

A sharp stinging pain erupted from his temple. Philo stumbled to the mirror, his swimming vision trying to focus. There was a large, deep cut that was stitched along his brow, accompanied with multiple cuts on his face and dark bruising. His entire body was weary, sore, and in pain.

What the hell had happened to him?

He downed the jug of water resting on the table, parched. He was late for work. He had a case to investigate.

Despite these obligations, his mind was jumbled with thoughts that popped in and out of his mind. He couldn't concentrate on one, it was like sifting through a murky river.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Philo spoke in a gruff voice.

Portia quietly entered. She saw Philo leaning against the table, back facing her.

"Philo," she said, "you're back."

Back? he wondered. Where had he gone? He couldn't remember. All he could recall was lying down for bed and waking up fully clothed with a splitting headache and covered in bruises and cuts.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright," she approached him slowly, "you left in such a hurry, I was worried."

"I'm fine," he said, unsure, "I just need to be alone."

"But you don't have to be alone, Philo," she reached for his arm, "I could be there for you-"

He turned around and her expression morphed into one of horror.

"Heavens! Philo, what the hell happened to you?"

"Portia, you need to go."

"But-"

"Go," he said sternly, no room for argument, "please."

She pursed her lips, hurt and disappointed. With a curt nod, she turned and slammed the door shut.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Vignette and Tourmaline flopped back down on the couch in her room at the Tetterby's.

"What a night," Tourmaline sighed tiredly.

Vignette nodded in agreement. Tourmaline helped Vignette carry Philo back to his room at the small hotel at the end of the Row. They slipped him back into bed, a vastly different environment from the Haruspex's apothecary.

Tourmaline quickly snuck out, not wanting to be spotted, but Vignette stayed a moment longer. She removed Philo's coat and lay it on the table. The Haruspex cleared his memories from the night before, so she had to create a ruse that would make it appear believable. Though that would be hard with the new wounds all over his face.

A knock came from the door, followed by a soft, female voice, "Philo? Are you in there?"

Who's that? Vignette wondered, surprised to feel a spark of jealousy within her. She didn't know that was the sound of Portia's voice.

"You didn't come down this morning. Is everything alright?"

She was panicking, she had to think fast. Philo was indisposed, but she needed this woman to leave and not risk walking in on a fae from the Row in a Burguish sergeant's bedroom.

Vignette quickly ran to the door and locked it.

The clicking sound of the doorknob being locked in place were like daggers to Portia's heart. She stepped away from the room. It appeared Philo was in no mood to talk. With a sigh and a tear, she walked away.

The distancing sound of her footsteps were a relief to Vignette. She needed to leave, this was becoming too risky.

His wounds were as well treated as they could be given the circumstances. Philo would be able to handle the rest, he'd probably visit the Haruspex himself for her healing herbs instead of explaining to the doctors at the hospital about the wounds he couldn't remember how he received. Vignette poised herself at the open window, preparing to fly off back to Tetterby's.

Before she did, she stole a glance at Philo. He looked at peace, quiet and still. Vignette slowly descended from the windowsill and walked to his bedside. She sat on the edge of the mattress with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Philo," she whispered. She truly felt a guilt within her for wiping his memory, for her neglect of him. Though his actions were unforgivable and cruel, she couldn't help but feel a softness for him in that moment.

Vignette softly touched his temple, observing the dark bruises. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

Catching herself, Vignette stood and walked towards the windowsill. She felt her steely guard lower again. This night with Philo was to never happen again. She was no longer in the safety of Tirnanoc prior to the Pact-opposition. She was in the Burgue, scum to these peoples' eyes. It was time she set her priorities straight.

Vignette flew off into the day, back towards Tetterby's.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Philo awoke a few hours later. It was still light outside, but the sun was soon to descent. He was feeling slightly better, the pain in his head relieved a bit from his much-needed rest. He remembered Portia leaving, but not much before that.

Now that was a mystery. How did he receive these wounds? Why was he fully clothed? What events had transpired from the night before?

Portia would not have the answers, but who would. He sat up, careful of his injuries, as he shrugged on his coat. He had enough sense to realize his wounds needed proper treatment and medicine. Philo could not go to the hospital. The Burguish doctors would demand to know what attacked him, and he'd be forced to file a report with the Constabulary. File a report on what? He couldn't remember.

He quietly descended the stairs down to the street. Life continued as usual, despite the gruesome murders that had plagued the Row as of late. It seemed he was the only one who was concerned about these horrid killings.

Philo would see the Haruspex. Though he didn't trust that old witch, she would provide him with some medicines to treat his wounds and his splitting headache.

Pulling his hat low on his head, Philo silently walked the streets of the Row.

As he continued walking, it seemed like suppressed memories tried materializing within his mind, but they never came to fruition. This sensation became very strong when he stopped in front of the Tetterby's hotel.

He stopped, eyeing the structure with full concentration. His foggy mind needed more focus to fully piece together the puzzle, but he was sure this fae brothel had a part to play.

Philo looked down at the cold stone of the street. It was like he could almost feel his cheek against the cobblestone….

"Philo."

He turned.

Standing before him, carrying fresh produce from the street markets that lined the Row, was Vignette.

Her wide eyes were emotionless and cagey.

"Vignette," he took a step backwards, hiding his face. He didn't want to shock her with his injuries.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm off to see the Haruspex."

She nodded curtly.

He looked to the ground, "I apologize."

"For what?"

"My injuries. They're rather grotesque," he gestured to the still fresh wounds and dark bruising.

"Oh," she nodded, but she didn't seem shocked. Philo found her reaction strange. Had he seen such wounds on her, he would be beside himself with concern for her and rage against the perpetrator.

"Well," he broke the tense silence, "I should be off."

"Right," she stepped aside, giving him enough room to pass.

He took a few steps forward then stopped, turning back to her.

"Vignette-" he opened his mouth to speak. There was so much to say, yet nothing at all.

She awaited his words.

His investigative qualities were seeping through. He was sure Vignette knew something of the night before, she had to. Her benign reaction towards his injuries confirmed it. Yet, what was he to say?

"Yes?" she pressed.

He sighed, "Nothing."

She looked slightly crestfallen, but it was gone after a second.

He nodded to her before walking on.

"Philo!" she called after him.

He stopped again, but didn't turn.

"Just-" she felt a knot of words within her, "just...stay safe."

He continued on.

Vignette watched his figure disappear in the throng of people and Critch of the Row. She didn't stop looking until she couldn't see him any longer.

With a heavy sigh, she turned back towards Tetterby's, the Haruspex's words ringing in her ears: Your destiny is intertwined with Sergeant Philostrate, you must know that. You must accept it.

Tourmaline watched as she flew back in the room through the open window.

"Well?" her friend asked, "Vinny, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, though still unsure

"You're lying," her best friend knew her better than that.

"I am," she admitted, "but I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright," Tourmaline respected her wishes, "I'm always here if you need."

"I know," she smiled warmly, "thank you."

Vignette was conflicted immensely. Her anger towards Philo masked the true feelings she felt underneath, but she didn't want to admit it to herself that she could still imagine a future with Philo.

Enough, Vignette, she shook the thoughts from her mind, You have a job to do.

Philo knocked on the door of the Haruspex's apothecary. She was conjuring potions at her wooden table, but she acknowledged his entrance.

"What brings you to these parts, Sergeant Philostrate?" she spoke in a croaky voice.

"I need medicine." he said in a low voice.

"That is rather evident from your wounds, is it not?" she said rhetorically as she approached Philo and took a closer look at her handiwork. She nodded, "Wait there."

He did as he was told and lingered by the door.

From her stockroom, he heard her voice, "Those injuries seem pretty severe. What seems to have been the cause of them?"

He sighed, frustrated, "I don't know."

"Strange," she raised a brow.

"I mean I can't remember."

"A consequence of your head injury, I'm sure."

Philo nodded. That had to be it, it made medical sense. Yet, something within him told him there was more to the story.

She came forward presenting him with a pouch of herbs and seeds.

"Thank you," he nodded gratefully, presenting a few coins and leaving them on the counter.

He walked towards the door.

"Sergeant."

"Yes?" he turned.

"What do you think happened to you last night?"

He was taken off guard. Why was she asking? How did she know that what occurred was from the night before? She was a witch, she had insight to matters beyond his control.

"I told you," he muttered, "I can't remember."

"You know of my abilities," she raised a brow, "you know I could assist you."

He was silent.

"But you do not want my help," she smiled cryptically, "because you do not want to remember."

He remained silent.

"That is all I needed to know," she turned, "good day, Sergeant Philostrate."

He nodded once, heading for the door again.

Philo stepped out into the evening air. He carried the Haruspex's medicines in his coat. Her words rang in his ears, but she was right. Whatever had happened last night, there was a gut feeling within him that Vignette was involved. When he thought her, he was immediately greeted with a feeling of guilt and sadness. That wasn't a road he could trek down again. In some cases, it may be better to remain in the dark than be blinded by the light.

He walked down the Row again, back towards his room. He passed Tetterby's. Through Tourmaline's open window, he saw Vignette. She was sitting at the table, writing something, lost in thought. Philo admired her for a moment, missing her. Yet, something within him told him that last night may have been a breaking point in their newfound relationship. A sort of understanding had formed between them.

He turned and walked on, satisfied. The Haruspex had offered to help him remember. He smirked.

Some things were better left forgotten.

**THE END**

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